By Name
by Sleep-Not
Summary: Hmm, it's light, it's fluffy, it's got Crawford and Schuldig getting it on! (mildly) Enjoy!


Disclaimer: Weiss Kreuz does not belong to me… if it did, the series would have been seriously slashy… eheh, but then, that's what fanfics are for! And I seriously doubt anyone in their right mind would pay me money for writing this (not that you, dear readers, shouldn't read it!).

By Name

The late afternoon light shone on Crawford's desk tingeing the wood a strange greenish colour that reminded him somewhat of Schuldig's natural hair colour. Schuldig had dyed it a bright orange-red not long after he had joined Schwarz but Crawford still thought that his strange straw-coloured hair had stood out more.

Schuldig had once told him that his mental voice was the same colour as his hair. When Crawford, recalling the time when Schuldig's hair had been that natural albeit equally strange green colour, had asked him why he'd dyed it such a bright orange, Schuldig had just tossed him a look. After that, to lighten the mood, he'd made some silly taunt and called Crawford 'Brad'.

Crawford didn't like it when Schuldig called him that, and that was probably why Schuldig did as often as possible. But neither of them really delved into the underlying question of why Crawford didn't like being called by his first name and more specifically, by Schuldig. Or why Schuldig did so even after Crawford had shown him what happened to people who didn't leave well enough alone, it had taken Schuldig three days to recover completely, which was reason enough not to bother any more.

Crawford was trying to work, 'trying' being the operative word, because his mind kept throwing up old memories of Schuldig. They'd always danced around their attraction for each other, partly because neither of them was really sure what the other wanted out of a possible relationship, and partly because they weren't eager to upset the delicate balance they'd managed, after a lot of grief, to arrive at. Crawford no longer beat Schuldig up when he was irritated with minor things like Schuldig's liberal use of his Christian name, and Schuldig no longer tried to constantly invade Crawford's mind, which was better shielded than most people's.

Their heated arguments had turned to bantering as time passed, and on occasion it was not unknown for one or the other to flirt lightly. But neither of them ever acted upon it, and it still made Crawford uncomfortable when Schuldig called him 'Brad'. It made him even more uncomfortable to dwell on why he was uncomfortable so generally he repressed the whole lot of it and settled for glaring at Schuldig for making him feel so… vulnerable.

Crawford sighed lightly, and began finishing up the report he was writing. He'd been recording their latest mission, completed successfully, when he had fallen to thinking, and now realised he would have to rewrite it because he'd brought up Schuldig and Schuldig's actions an unsuitable number of times. In other words, Schuldig's name appeared in each sentence at least twice. It just wouldn't do. Though so far they were coming much closer to achieving Eszet's objectives than previously. All in all, he thought the report was shaping up quite well, as long as he deleted some of the Schuldigs.

Hands came from behind, unexpected, and yanked his chair backwards. Obviously, he'd forgotten about the last and most important Schuldig: the real one, while writing the report.

Brad Crawford fell out of his chair and right into whoever had pulled him back's lap. Why, he wondered did he never manage a vision warning him about the little practical jokes Schuldig loved to play.

Someone hummed a happy little tune and started to undo his tie. He still couldn't see Schuldig in the position they were in but he _knew that he was grinning like a maniac._

"Schuldig…" He sighed with only very mild annoyance in his words, and tried to get up. Only to have the redhead's arms wrap round his waist and pull backwards again, until he was leaning against a warm and very naked chest.

"Schuldig, I'm working."

"Come _on, Brad," A heavily accented voice practically moaned against his ear, "you work too hard, live a little."_

He could just barely see wisps of orange hair floating on the corners of his vision; they were lit up by the sunlight and so bright that they almost hurt his senses.

"Don't call me that." He tried to right himself a second time but failed again when one of the hands gripping him round his waist slipped into his shirt and tweaked one of his nipples a little sharply and very erotically in punishment for trying to escape.

Crawford stiffened a little as a short vision ran through him and came to his senses again to find them rather enflamed as the German nibbled on his ear and whispered: "Alright then, _Craw-ford." He deliberately dragged out the name to get a rise out of the as yet unresponsive man on his lap._

A rise he got, when Crawford, having seen what the future held and no longer able to hold back, finally managed to twist round and take a good look at his partner.

"Whee! I'm naked." Schuldig stated.

"I can see that," Crawford replied with not a little appreciation. "What brought this on?"

"You're not the only one who can see the future, Crawford, and I just couldn't stand the idea of the world coming to an end before I get to sleep with you." If he was nothing else, Schuldig was straightforward about what he wanted.

The corner of his mouth twitched and before he knew it Crawford was grinning too, "_Just sleeping? I can think of a lot more things than that we could do in a bed, Schuldig."_

Schuldig pouted in a disappointed manner, going with the flow of the banter, " Only in a bed… what a limited imagination; there's a desk right here."

He finally let Crawford off his lap, now that his efforts were showing success. They stood and looked at each other for a moment and then the desk that was littered with Crawford's work documents.

"Do you really want to explain to Eszet why our latest report has strange stains on it?" Crawford asked wryly.

Schuldig, who never had to do the explaining himself (it was Crawford's job) just shrugged lazily and looped his arms round Crawford's neck. Then he melded himself against Crawford; hip to hip, chest to chest and mouth to mouth.

It was a very languorous kiss, and Crawford found himself wondering why he and Schuldig had never got round to this before when they'd both known the attraction was there. Schuldig tasted of cigarettes but the underlining tastes of sugar and spice sweetened it enough to make it an addictive flavour. They didn't so much battle for dominance with their tongues, as they so often did verbally in daily life, as take turns to dip into each other's mouths. The kiss was open and deep at the same time and Crawford came away feeling very satisfied with this first sample.

"So," Schuldig said, licking his lips as if to taste the last remnants of the kiss, "bed or desk?"

Suddenly, the little vision made a bit more sense; basically he was being asked to make the choice between many, many nights with Schuldig twined round his body, moving against him and with him, crying out his name "Brad!" ('Brad'… not 'Crawford') – or just once, one moment of happiness in a world they'd thought had none to give, and that was it, one night and then nothing.

And Crawford asked himself why he was even offered these choices in the first place, when the answer was so clear.

He started undoing his shirt buttons with one hand, not missing the barely noticeable look of disappointment that flashed quickly through Schuldig's eyes.

Then he smiled a real smile for his lover and with the other hand grabbed him by the waist and steered him towards the door: "The bed, of course." He said, as if it was obvious to just about anyone what the best choice was. And he thanked all the stars in the sky that Schuldig had come in and finally pushed the issue of Them.

Schuldig started to laugh and help him undo his buttons. He kissed him on the cheek as they stood framed and silhouetted in the doorway and then the room was empty except for the sound of relieved laughter that floated down the hall and up the stairs to a bedroom. Then a door shut in the house and, the other two members of Schwarz having made themselves scarce, there was quiet in the house for a long time filled only with the occasional gasp, moan, or the sound of someone calling someone else joyfully by name: "Brad!"

End

Author's Note: 

Oh yeah! My first actually *posted* fanfiction (oh the shame)!

I like this fic, but the amount of times I used Schuldig's name… oh dear…

Anyhow, with any luck and a bit more practice, my fanfics will improve enough that I don't shudder with shame at the sight of them… I can only hope!

;^D

Sleep-Not


End file.
